


Upwards to the Moon

by ninetytwoheartlines



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, AlphaxAlphaChallenge, Alternate Universe - Historical, Domestic, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Past Violence, M/M, Metaphors, Romance, RoyalAUChallenge, Royalty, ScentingChallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetytwoheartlines/pseuds/ninetytwoheartlines
Summary: Years after an imperium-wide war, the emperor is at peace and can finally hold his beloved in his arms. Fallen asleep on his sleeve, Baekhyun looks much too sweet to be awoken; Chanyeol must find a way to slip away as discreetly as possible, and he does so, by ripping fabric.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40
Collections: Crescent Moon: Flash Fest Round 1





	Upwards to the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Thx again to all the mods for all the hard work and effort you guys put into this awesome lil fest! This one was a little rushed :^) but i enjoyed writing it :) ty to #1 for betaing i love u! and sry for the gratuitous use of metaphor rip...but can u guess what story this was based off of?

Chanyeol is roused by the fourth trill of a songbird and the smell of rosewood and oil thickening the air. 

A glance to the right reveals that somewhere along the humid night, Baekhyun had rolled off the perch of his forearm to rest on his sleeve instead. Cheek pressed against the silk, his skin glows faintly red in a warm blush. Chanyeol’s arm is pleasantly sore from the memory of his husband’s head cradled against him. 

Outside, the dew drips heavily on branches, but the sweat that glistens on Baekhyun’s brow is light. It dapples his temples delicately—so tenderly—like doe-spots on a fallow fawn’s flank. 

An occasional ruffle flits through his husband’s body, coupled with a soft moan. Perhaps, a lucid dream. The faint twitch of his hind leg tells Chanyeol that he’s running. Hopefully chasing rabbits as a little fox happily tumbling over fresh, sodden grass. 

Chanyeol feels an unbidden emotion surge up in his chest. As much as he yearns to stroke the slim, silvery line of his neck, and brush over the dark freckle above his slack mouth, he cannot disturb Baekhyun’s slumber. Not when he looks so sweet and placated. 

Nevertheless, he has to leave, no matter how distraught he may feel at the thought of relinquishing his hold. 

But Baekhyun is sensitive, always has been; even the slightest shift of gossamer against his face will tear him from the feathery threads of his trance. So, as to not wake his love, Chanyeol draws his dagger, from underneath his porcelain pillow, and slices through his sleeve; this way, he can quietly slip out undetected. Slit complete, Chanyeol gracefully shies out of bed. 

Unable to help himself, the emperor turns and lingers. 

Seemingly missing his warmth, Baekhyun stirs. Chanyeol freezes. One slender arm sways like a willow branch, scouring the emperor’s side of the bed for his familiar warmth, only, he finds emptiness in the dip. 

A sigh later, Baekhyun’s eyelashes flutter open in beat to the emperor’s hummingbird-heart. With the swell of his sternum, his husband tears through the liminality. 

Ever so keen, Baekhyun peers sleepily at him first before his gaze drops to the blade at hand. Chanyeol’s neck prickles, suddenly lost; however, Baekhyun doesn’t even flinch, not in the presence of the emperor nor the weapon he wields. Just shutters his pearled eyes with a soft smile. 

Something throbs in the Chanyeol’s chest as a realization dawns. He immediately slides back into bed. 

Once, the emperor was haunted by a lover, and had slept with open eyes because Baekhyun hungered, hunted for him even during nightfall. Many moons ago when all he knew was the pain of possession: blood and flesh. How many nights had they spent claiming stars as their own because he was fearful of submitting to his unconcious? His husband still sleeps with his twin butterfly blade tucked against his thin wrist, and at night, the silver is warmed by the murmur of his pulse. 

But now, as the supreme commander of the armed forces, Prince Baekhyun lays lax beside him without so much a peep at the grace of a former bane. 

Without his crown, his hair flows so that Baekhyun lies in a halo of dark velvet. The emperor fetches his hairpin, the gold one inlaid with cuts of chatoyant jade and fastens it behind one ear. The faintest tang of blood still lingers on the accessory’s spine, undetectable by mortals—his husband was always quite versatile with his choice of weapon. 

As he fondly remembers, Chanyeol strokes Baekhyun’s hair and smiles when his eyes slip shut again. Baekhyun hums, airy and appeased, usual loquacity stifled by the lingering dregs of sleep. 

“Sorry love, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Baekhyun scrunches his nose at the apology. He blindly tilts his face to seek out the emperor’s touch, soft mouth brushing fleetingly over Chanyeol’s calloused palm in a whisper of breath. 

“Where were you going?” 

Baekhyun props himself up on the bow of his arm, daring Chanyeol to stare at the skin revealed by the ebb of his robe—it slips down him like water. The hill of his bare shoulder looks as if it’s been carved out of moonstone, gilded rose-gold by dawn. He looks immortal. Chanyeol reaches out to touch and finds his skin to be soft. 

“Why is your sleeve torn?” Chanyeol starts to tug his robe back over. Baekhyun whines. “And why are you putting my clothes back on?” 

“Because you’ll catch a cold like this. And I didn’t want to wake you up by removing my sleeve. Prince Sehun wants to talk with me about...things.”

Baekhyun blinks at him. A hounding smile laces his face.

“So you cut your sleeve off? The sleeve that’s attached to your imperial robes—the one you received as a wedding gift from Yoora. All that so I could keep sleeping?”

Chanyeol blushes. “When you say it like that it makes me seem foolish, dear.” But that’s what he is: a fool for love, for Byun Baekhyun. “Your beauty sleep is worth more than any of my clothes; I’ll sew it back, my sister won’t mind. Not when it comes to you.”

Baekhyun hums again, this time more vibrantly. “Mmm, I’m still cold. Warm me up.” His words are rasped, so low that the emperor falters and fails to straighten the commander’s loose lapels. Lean, smooth chest and abdomen peek through the cut. Chanyeol’s mouth waters at the hint of a rosy nipple, already peaked from the cool air. 

“What did you dream of?” he croaks out.

Preening under the heaviness of Chanyeol’s gaze, Baekhyun languidly stretches and doesn’t answer him immediately. 

“I dreamt of us. You were playing the zither for me while I danced on top of a moonlit mountain. I was holding a flower in my left hand while I flourished my saber in my right…”

The evocative slink of his body draws Chanyeol into caressing the curve of his waist, fingertips slithering over the ripple of his spine. Easy as a sheet of butterfly-silk, Baekhyun arches into him. 

“...My hands reached for the sky, and then I started running because I wanted to catch a shooting-star in my palms.” 

Baekhyun plucks a stray thread from the emperor’s now-frayed sleeve, tugs it until he can twirl it, and interlaces their fingers together. “You ran with me because our red-threads of fate are intertwined.” He ties the crimson strand around their little fingers. 

Close enough to kiss, Baekhyun murmurs against his lips. “In this life and the next. Forever.” His sigh, as their breaths mingle, is sweeter than a peony. Their faces gently brush against each other as white fleets of lily-lotus circle by: swans swimming astride the pond. 

Chanyeol joins their mouths, pulls him closer. In the circle of his arms Baekhyun is eternal. The emperor holds him like a god. Untouchable. 

When he flips them over so that Baekhyun is tucked beneath him, the emperor’s hand goes, by instinct, to cup a faint incarnadine circle bloomed atop his other clavicle. From afar, it could easily be mistaken as a blessed, flower-shaped birthmark—but he knows better.

Not petals, but teeth marks. 

The bite of a wolf. 

Chanyeol’s imprint. His  _ claim _ .

A knock on the emperor’s screen door makes the two break their kiss. It’s the prince, his beloved brother, asking for Chanyeol’s immediacy.

Groaning out of annoyance, Baekhyun slips the hairpin out of his hair and flings it across the room so that it strikes the paper divider partition, embedding itself there in a warning. Chanyeol just chuckles and lets himself be pulled back into his husband’s embrace. 

Prince Sehun is a patient man, he can wait a little longer. 

  
  



End file.
